


Here Comes the General

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:03:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8448985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Gilbert Fayette has just had their Revelation, and is learning to cope with the aftermath- like realizing their best friend was actually their General.Alexander Harrison had enough problems in his life without having to deal with both a memory-less Washington and an excitable French kid hanging off his arm... especially because it seemed that he was their teacher now.George Warner doesn't have a clue who he was, but is determined to fine out.The Author is bad at summaries and they always sound really kind of pretentious. Read anyway?





	1. Famous Fighting Frenchman

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on this site, and I haven't really looked over it yet, so be kind.
> 
> Also, I used google translate for some of it, soooo....

Gilbert collapsed, convulsing, to the ground, their rebellious hair escaping the restraints of their ponytail.

 

Small gasps escaped their lips as the dam broke, allowing memories of fire and gunshots fill their head. Blood spattered the stars, casting a crimson glow over the faces of their fellow soldiers whose eyes were gaunt and tortured.

 

Their heart pounded loudly in their chest, and distant, echoey voices bounced around them, filling them with terror. The people around them froze, concerned looks on their blurry faces when Gilbert leapt to their feet, demanding to know what was happening.

 

A shorter woman by their side put a hand on their shoulder, saying something unintelligible in a gentle tone of voice. They squeezed their eyes shut as memories of homework and joking with their friends mingled with the grimy hell-holes of the colonial world. 

 

The woman had tears in her eyes, and she gripped their hand, allowing them to squeeze her fingers when the pain became too much… 

 

They wanted to end it, make it finish, stop the endless tormented spirits of the fallen who wailed in their mind, struck down on the streets of revolution… 

 

Revolutions…

 

“Gilbert,” the woman said softly, cupping a hand to their cheek. “Gilbert, angel, please. It’s alright, you’re safe…”

 

“Maman…” they whispered, and their voice was wrong and the world was wrong and everything was wrong…. 

 

She held them close, humming softly so they could hear the vibrations of her voice in her chest, stroking their hair and assuring them everything would be fine.

 

They fell asleep in their mother’s arms.

 

_______

 

Gilbert woke the next morning with a terrible, pounding headache. Their mother sat by their bed, a warm mug in her hands and a tired expression on her face. 

 

They blinked, attempting to sit up, but falling back into their pillows instead. “Maman,” they rasped, their voice pained and hoarse, as if they had shouted themself to sleep.

 

She started, and Gilbert realized, with bleary guilt, that she had been sleeping. “Hmm?” she muttered, shifting a little in her chair.

 

Gilbert closed their eyes once more. “Je suis désolé, Maman, je ne voulais pas-”

 

“Gilbert, dear, I’m afraid I don’t speak French,” she said bemusedly.

 

They rubbed their eyes. “Um… right. Sorry.”

 

She laughed softly. “No need to apologize, dear. How are you feeling?”

 

“I am… how you say…” they fumbled for words, the language feeling awkward in their mouth. “...wanting sleep?”

 

“Tired,” she supplied, and they nodded. “In that case, I’ll leave this by your bed- drink it before it gets cold, dear, I don’t want to have to make another… tea, Gilbert,” she added in answer to their unspoken question. “Oh, sorry- do you prefer a different name now?”

 

They were already half asleep when they muttered, “Je m'appelle Lafayette.”

 

She smiled as she stood silently, whispering, “Sweet dreams, Lafayette,” before closing the door with a soft click.

 

_____ 

 

Lafayette was still slightly disorientated, but much less so by Sunday. They made their way downstairs to find their mother just closing the door behind her as she shed her coat, still wearing her doctor’s scrubs. “Oh, hello, Gil- Lafayette, dear. Just woke up?”

 

They nodded. “You… you are a doctor.”

 

She bustled into the kitchen, stopping only to say, “What, forgotten your poor old mother already?”

 

“Non, non, je ne veux pas dire-”

 

“Please try to remember to speak English, darling. It was a joke, anyway.”

 

Lafayette shook their head. English. Right. “I am sorry, Maman, it is my mistake.”

 

She shrugged, taking a seat at the table and gesturing for them to do the same. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s quite the accent you’ve got there. I take it you were French?”

 

They sat. “Oui.”

 

She nodded. “I just want to get a few things straightened out. First of all, would you still prefer they/them pronouns?”

 

They mulled it over for a minute or two; they hadn’t really thought about it. He/him still didn’t feel quite right, nor did she/her or xe/xem or… “Oui.”

 

“Alright. Is there anything you feel I should know about your past life? Tell me as much or as little as you want.”

 

They nodded, feeling grateful for how little she was pushing. “I… I was the Marquis de Lafayette.”

 

They saw her eyebrows travel slowly up her forehead at this announcement. “Oh. Wow. I must admit, I don’t recall much of your life from history class. You fought in the French Revolution, right?”

 

“And the American,” they said. “I… I was good friends with General Washington. He… he is on the one dollar bill now, no?”

 

She nodded, and they grinned. 

 

“I am not sure whether he would be proud or mortified.”

 

She laughed. “Anything else you want me to know?”

 

They racked their brain. “I do not believe so.” They paused, marvelling at the person sitting across from them. She had been incredibly calm, a force of peace, all their life, and this time was no different. They were truly lucky, they decided, for this woman to have become their mother. They cleared their throat. “I… I did want to say… thank you very much for… for everything. I am happy to call you Maman.”

 

She gave them a peck on the cheek. “And I am honored to call you my child. Now. Do famous fighting Frenchmen eat with us peasants, or…?”

Lafayette laughed weakly.


	2. The Pride of Mount Vernon. Sort of.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lafayette meets George. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short, sorry.

Lafayette told themself that they were ready to return to school on Monday. Nothing had changed, after all, just… added on to. They drifted through the halls as if in a dream, buried in their own mind.

 

“Gilbert?” a concerned voice broke through the haze of memories. “Gilbert, are you alright?”

 

Lafayette turned, opening their mouth to speak, but they were hit with a freight train of memories. 

 

A tall, broad-shouldered, elegant man, working late into the night.

 

The man charging into battle, shouting commands to his soldiers as blood watered the landscape.

 

The man supporting them when no one else would.

 

Lafayette stumbled back, and a pair of hands guided them to a chair. 

 

“Gilbert! What do you need? Water?”

 

“No,” they gasped, “no, mon ami, I- I am fine.”

 

The blurry face above him frowned. “Why are you talking like that?”

 

Their vision was clearing slightly. “Like- like what?” 

 

George’s face came into focus, his thick eyebrows pushed together in a worried frown. 

 

Their friend, George. 

 

Their general, Washington. 

 

“Merde,” they muttered.

 

“You’re talking like you’re French,” George replied. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

Lafayette drew a deep breath. Just tell him the truth. Well, part of it, anyways. “Yes, yes, of course. I- I had my Revelation over the weekend. I am French.”

 

Immediately, George’s face cleared. “Ah,” he beamed, “well, then! I suppose congratulations are in order!”

 

Lafayette smiled tiredly. “Thank you, sir,” they muttered.

 

“Sir?” George asked in confusion.

 

“What? Oh, uh, no, I meant… George. Thank you, George.” The name felt strange on their tongue, and Lafayette sent a silent apology to the real Washington sleeping inside their friend.


	3. Soldiers that will Yield for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton is a mess. And a teacher. Specifically, George's teacher.

George settled near the back of the English class, doodling idly on his paper as the other students filed in. Chatter filled the room as friends who hadn’t seen each other all summer shouted to each other, the dissonant sounds of a room full of teenagers spilling out into the hallway.

George watched as the clock ticked past the time class was supposed to start-

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

The door slammed open, and a short man rushed in, mumbling apologies as he tripped over to the front of the room. He dumped his things haphazardly on his desk, straightened his green vest, before turning to face the class.

“Sorry about that. Hopefully I won’t be that late in the future. My name is Mr. Harrison, he/him, and I would like to welcome you to English…”

George squinted at the teacher. His shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the stubble on his chin outlined the faint shape of a goatee. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t bothered to sleep the night before, and something familiar…

He felt a strange sense of deja vu, watching the teacher bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, one of his hands fiddling with a pen.

He knew this man.

He wasn’t sure how, but he did.

Harrison’s eyes glittered amusedly at the class, and George couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face.

 

It was good to see him.

 

Whoever he was.  
_____

George waited until the class had ended. As the students filed out, he stayed back, watching Harrison collect his papers from the class and shove them carelessly back into their respective folders.

“Sir?” he asked timidly.

“Yes?” Harrison didn’t looked up from his papers.

George cleared his throat nervously. “Sir, I’m sorry, it’s just… I think I knew you.”

Harrison looked up from his book and examined the boy in front of him. With a small choking sound, he scrambled to his feet, almost knocking his chair over. George stared, wide-eyed, as the teacher pulled himself together in a clumsy salute. “Sir!”

“Oh… um…” George fumbled for words. “At… ease?”

Harrison slowly seemed to realize that he was saluting a student. He flushed. “Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his progressively messier hair and glancing up at George guiltily. “Instinct.”

“I… I take it you did know me?”

Harrison was now avoided George’s gaze. “Oh, yes. Absolutely. I can’t believe you’re… wow, this is… probably one of the most bizarre…” his voice trailed off once more. With what seemed to be an enormous effort, he met George’s eyes. “My apologies, sir. How may I assist you?”

George blinked. It was a strange feeling to have a teacher address him as ‘sir’. “Nothing, I was just… hoping you tell me who I was?”

Harrison blanched. “You haven’t had your Revelation yet. Oh, dear,” he muttered to himself.

“Can you tell me?”

Harrison adjusted his glasses, then took them off restlessly, polished them, and replaced them on his face. “I don’t think it’s really my place… you are supposed to realize it for yourself, you know. It’s not the kind of thing I can just… I’m sorry, sir, I can’t…”

He looked so flustered, George felt a stab of pity. “I’m sorry if I ever caused you trouble…?”

Harrison seemed to be pulling himself together slightly. He chuckled. “Oh, no. Of course not. I’m sorry for my reaction, sir, I never thought I’d see… It was a shock, you see, sir, I wasn’t expecting to see you, much less as a student.”

“Oh… I’m sorry for startling you. Um… can you tell me anything, Mr. Harrison?”

Harrison regarded him over the top of his glasses. “I can, yes. I don’t think I should, though.”

George felt a stab of annoyance at the teacher’s stubbornness. “Of course not.” He tilted his head slightly, examining the shorter man curiously. There was a strange sense of wrongness in the pit of his stomach, and he found himself feeling almost… amused. He sighed. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but something about this conversation feels… off.”

Harrison chuckled bitterly. “You have no idea.” George raised a questioning eyebrow. Harrison hesitated, before saying, “You were my boss, back in the day. You were… I don’t know, twenty years older than me?”

George’s eyes widened. “Oh. I see.”

 

“So I wasn’t expecting to see you at all, and you’re…” he tilted his head slightly, examining George. “...what, fifteen?”

 

“Sixteen,” George corrected him.

 

Harrison’s smile grew wider. “Sixteen. It’s just… bizarre. You’re my student. You, of all people.”

 

There was silence for a moment, and George grew slightly uncomfortable at the fondness on Harrison’s face as the teacher continued to watch him. “Uh… right. See you tomorrow, sir?”

 

Harrison shook himself. “Yes. Of course. Goodbye, sir.”


	4. Chapter 4

Gilbert took in George’s face curiously. “What is it, _mon ami?_ You look like you have seen a zombie.”

 

“You mean ghost,” George corrected tiredly.

 

“I know what I said,” Gilbert replied. “Now. What is up?”

 

George rubbed his face with his hand. “I… I met someone who knew me. In a past life.”

 

Gilbert’s eyebrows crept up their forehead as he listened to George’s explanation. “Harrison, you say?”

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

“Short? Energetic? Tired looking?”

 

“Yeah, actually. How did you--”

 

Gilbert climbed to their feet, eyes shining in excitement. They planted a large, wet kiss on George’s face, then tugged him down the hall, exclaiming, “Thank you, _mon ami!”_

 

They burst into Mr. Harrison’s room, almost running into several desks. The teacher looked up in surprise from where he had been scribbling furiously at his desk. “Oh! Mr. Warner. Again. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

Gilbert dropped George’s arm and marched up to the teacher, examining his face closely. George approached more warily, hoping his friend wouldn’t do anything too drastic.

 

Mr. Harrison raised an eyebrow at Gilbert. “Can I help you?”

 

It struck George that Mr. Harrison wouldn’t have met Gilbert before. He cleared his throat. “Um. Mr. Harrison, this is my friend, Gilbert Fayette.”

 

Mr. Harrison instantly looked more alert. “Gilbert Fayette?”

 

Gilbert nodded. “Were you, by any chance, a rather short and feisty redhead in a past life?”

 

George swallowed nervously. Harrison pulled out a pair of glasses and balanced them on his nose, squinting through them at Gilbert. “Let’s see… overenthusiastic… French…” he stopped, brow crinkling in irritation. George held his breath. “Hang on a moment, I wasn’t _that_ short!”

 

Gilbert grinned. “ _Mon ami!”_ they exclaimed, reaching out and ruffling the teacher’s already messy hair.

 

George stepped on their foot. “ _What are you doing?!”_ he hissed, horrified. “I apologize for my friend’s behavior, sir, but you see—” his voice trailed off when Harrison pulled Gilbert around the desk and wrapped them in a bone-cracking hug. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

 

After a few seconds, the hug broke. “I cannot believe it! I expected to find you back in the cabinet, not at… at _Hamilton_!” They overemphasized the last word, and the teacher chuckled.

 

“It’s good to see you,” Harrison paused, eyes glinting with mischief as he added, “ _Gilbert.”_

 

Gilbert sighed. “It is unfortunate, is it not? Of all my names to have become—”

 

Harrison sunk back into his chair, relaxed. “Would you have preferred ‘Marie’?”

 

Gilbert grimaced. “Fair.”

 

George’s mind finally caught up with what was happening. “So, wait. You two knew each other?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Way back in the day.”

 

George paused. His best friend and his teacher had known each other. Fairly well, too. Right. That wasn’t weird at all. “And what day was this?” asked George innocently.

 

Harrison chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll remember. Eventually.”

 

“There was a war, wasn’t there?” Harrison and Gilbert froze, and George eyed them both suspiciously. “You-” he pointed at Harrison- “saluted me, as if I had been your- your general, or something…”

 

Gilbert snorted. “That must have been a sight.”

 

Harrison rolled his eyes. “It was instinct, give me a break. Are you telling me you have had no trouble or slip-ups around his Excellency?”

 

George raised an eyebrow at the title, but Gilbert merely laughed. “You mean like calling him ‘Excellency’?”

 

Harrison cursed under his breath, then instinctively muttered an apology to George, who was looking back and forth between them in confusion.

 

"That is a sign of respect! I respect him no less now than I did then!"

 

Pain split George’s forehead, and their voices grew softer in his ears. He barely heard Gilbert’s reply and the world around him was blurring at the edges.

 

_The fields were splattered with blood, and a man howled at his men to retreat. George growled under his breath, wading through the soldiers to reach him. “What are you doing, Lee? Get back on your feet!”_

 

_“But there’s so many of them,” the man, Lee, whimpered._

 

_“I’m sorry, is this not your speed?” George asked sarcastically. Lee whimpered again, and George rolled his eyes. He turned to another, smaller man, whose red hair whipped in the wind. “Alexander!”_

 

_The man saluted. “Ready, sir!”_

 

_“Have Lafayette take the lead!” He felt a twinge of guilt at the disappointment on Alexander’s face._

 

_“Yes, sir.” Alexander darted into the crowd of battling people, ducking bayonets and swords as he reached a taller person in a white wig._

 

_Gilbert, the old Gilbert._

 

_Lafayette._

 

George came to to see Harrison and Gilbert’s- _Lafayette’s_ worried faces. “You,” he gasped, focusing on Lafayette. “Lafayette. I knew you.”

 

Lafayette shifted guiltily. “What did you see?” they asked.

 

“We were… we were fighting. There was a man- Lee…”

 

Harrison made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Lee,” he muttered. “You know there is evidence that he was a spy for the British, so you really can’t be mad at me for that anymore.”

 

George frowned. “Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you? He.. he retreated.”

 

Harrison flushed again. “Wrong moment,” he mumbled.

 

“Anyways. I ordered someone… hang on a minute, it was _you.”_ he stared up in Harrison’s face, suddenly realizing why the Alexander of his dreams looked so familiar. “You’re Alexander.” Harrison shifted in his chair. “Well?” George asked eagerly. “I’ve been dreaming of an Alexander… you were _really_ short.”

 

Lafayette smirked as Harrison drew himself up with as much dignity as he could muster. “With all due respect, sir, I was of average height. You were over six feet tall.”

 

“It is you.” George stared for a moment at Alexander’s new face. “Alexander.”

 

“Your Excellency, sir.” Alexander gave a little half-hearted salute.

 

“In my dreams, I was… a general? You were a soldier.”

 

Alexander nodded. “Your right hand man.”

 

“And you- Gilbert. Lafayette. You were there, too.”

 

“ _Oui._ ”

 

“Lee- he retreated at the first shot. I told you-” he pointed at Alexander “-to tell them-” he gestured to Lafayette “-to take the lead.”

 

Alexander nodded. “Everyday, I _begged_ you for command. And even in the heat of battle, you handed it over to someone else.”

 

George rolled his eyes. “You could have died, I couldn’t risk that.”

 

Lafayette’s mouth opened slightly, but Alexander ignored them, fixing George with an annoyed glare. “I was more than willing to die!” he snapped.

 

“Your wife needed you alive, son, I needed you alive! Your head was full of fantasies of dying like a martyr, but dying is the easy way out, you know that!”

 

Alexander glared at him a moment longer before relaxing. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. “I’m not having this argument with you right now. Come talk to me after your Revelation.”

 

George blinked as he realized what had just happened. Lafayette was watching him nervously, one hand gripping George’s sleeve. “Did- did we argue like that a lot?”

 

Alexander nodded. “Practically every day of the war.”

 

There was a pause. “Lafayette?”

 

“Oh. Sorry, _mon ami_ ,” Lafayette said, releasing George’s sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos/etc?


End file.
